Dark Phoenix Rising
by ghh422
Summary: What if Voldemort had not heard the prophecy but wanted to kill off a potentialy powerful rival for the mantle of Dark Lord instead. Follow Harry on his first year as a dark wizard. Rating will go up.
1. 1: Meet Number Four

Disclaimer: I own nothing JKR owns Harry not me. Anything you don't recognize is mine. I might toss in elements from other sources I will mention it when necessary.

A/N: This is my first story ever so be genital. I have read Fan Fiction for a long time now however so I hope it isn't too horrible. As you will probably pick up on this story has no beta so excuse the spelling and grammar mistakes. This chapter will be short and in the third person. It will introduce the Dursleys who I always felt needed to be more human faults rater than just being plain evil.

A/N2: After rereading my story so far, at the recomidation of the reveiwers, I desided to change the most glaring mistakes.

1: Meet Number Four

Harry Potter was different and not the usual kind of different that one expects to happens across occasionally either. No, just by meeting him you would think him a polite if not a bit shy and intelligent little boy. You might think it odd that he wore broken glasses and clothes that where almost comically to large for him. The only noticeable sign of his strangeness is his lightning shaped scar on his forehead and intense emerald eyes, which seamed to smolder like the coals of a bond fire.

Why, you ask, is he so different then? Well to under stand Harry you must first understand his environment. Harry lived with his "family" the Dursleys at Number Four Privet Drive; he had for as long as he could remember. The Dursleys where made up of his Aunt Petunia, his Uncle Vernon and his cousin Dudley. Petunia was blond, thin (almost emaciated) and had a vary long neck. She was vary jealous individual which led to an obsessive need to spread viscous rumors and spy on the neighbors. Vernon almost the polar opposite of his wife he was big, beefy man with hardly any neck and an impressive mustache. Vernon was a deeply insecure man which lead to an intensely uncompromising, uncaring, and often aggressive attitude towards those he feels of a lesser status than himself. This insecurity also leads too hyper competitiveness and a strong need to appear normal to those of equal status. To those of grater status and or those he needs something from Vernon is a polite and friendly yes-man. Dudley was much the same as his father sans the mustache and the fact that he showed every sign of becoming fatter than he was tall down the road. Dudley is a spoiled child who never developed any intellectual curiosity, imagination, or work ethic (or any other type for that mater). He had never been told or shown he was or indeed could be any thing but perfect. Dudley inherited the same faults as both his parents except he targeted those he was jealous of by physically harming them thus asserting himself as superior to them and nobody fell into the categories of equal of grater statues. Dudley also fails to see other people as capable of thoughts and emotions therefore he feels no remorse for any of the pain he causes.

Living in this kind of environment Harry learned to show others what they wanted to see. To the teachers at school he was a socially inept, quite, well-behaved student. To the community he was a ruffian that was to be avoided and ostracized. To the Dursleys he was meek and subservient child to boss around. He became detached, calculating and deceptive. He knew one day he would rise up and become more than any of these fools could ever dream of, because he knew he was different.

The Dursleys all hated anything that might associate them with "abnormality". They simply could not stand to be associated with it. They were in for a rough few years because Harry was about as unDersley-ish as it is possible to get. You see Harry was **MAGICAL**.

A/n: So how did I do? Should I continue? I know it was short but it is only the intro, the next one will be longer. From now on it will switch over to Harry's POV.

Please review


	2. 2: IT

Disclaimer: I own nothing

A/N: From hear out this will be writhen from Harry's POV unless otherwise stated. I would also like to thank all of you who already reviewed ch. 1 despite it being up for only a few hours and how short it was so as a special treat here is the next chapter early.

A/N: I went back and cleaned it up some hopfuly this will be more readable. Thanks to thouse who reviewed and for your helpfull criticism.

2: IT

I snapped awake as suddenly and totally as if a starting gun had gone off next to my ear. I knew it was futile to attempt to return to sleep but I was tempted to try any ways. It was one of those hyper realistic dreams that are so real you feel like you where right there. Even as I tried to recapture the dream I felt the details slipping away. There was a flying motorcycle in there some ware. I groaned inwardly as I finally gave up and turned my attention to discovering what had woken me. It wasn't the usual shrill shriek of Aunt Petunia to get up and finish breakfast, besides it still felt to early for that. In fact no one should be up at this ungodly hour.

Then I detected faint furtive movements coming from out in the house. My still sleep fogged brain immediately jumped to thoughts of a brake in. If it was a brake in they might kill the Dursleys and take the valuables. Needless to say sleep was roughly shoved aside by a jolt of adrenaline. With the sudden energy two things happened at once. First I felt IT stir with in me and start to course through my veins. As always it felt so good, so right, so intoxicating. I felt so strong and alert and ready for any thing, I was INVINCABLE.

The second thing that happened was that with the jolt of adrenalin the last of my sleep induced fog was driven away and I came to the conclusion that the "intruder" was probably my Aunt getting up early to watch the neighbors. This meant no one was going to kill the Dursleys today, to bad but the day was still young. I snorted quietly at that. I then tuned my attention to calming down. I knew from experience if I let IT keep flowing IT would start to do things on it's own, usually in a vary loud and destructive manor.

Once I had stopped the rush of IT, avoiding blowing anything up and admonished my self for the invincible comment, honestly I sounded like a cheesy villain in a low budget movie, I turned to thoughts of possibl reasons for the sudden change in severance times for the neighbors. She never brakes from her routines with out a reason. Then it came to me, she would be watching to see if Ms.Bushman from next door would get in another screaming match with her daughter like the one they had last night. Honestly I doubt I am even related to her. I mean come on, the woman was pathetic. She was as dumb as a box of rocks and twice as useless. The most damming evidence was that she had almost none of IT in her.

While everyone had some of IT in them, I could always tell the ones who had enough IT in them to use. When I had run across those who had enough to use it, they always felt like warm camp fires when I reached out with IT. I had unfortunately never run across one with out my "family" present so I never had the opportunity to ask them about IT. The strange thing about these people have been always seemed to be very excited perhaps even honored to meet me. But the second I try to get them alone they seem to disappear. And I'm sure they didn't just walk away, no I am sure they used IT to disappear. I would fell a sudden surge of IT from them and them they were gone, once I had heard a faint "pop".

The most infuriating part of the whole thing is my aunt and uncle obviously knew, or least suspected, that the strangers could use IT. They didn't react in the same disgusted and contemptuous manner that they normally used when forced to face someone unusual or strange but with outright fear. Afterwards they would blame me for attracting "one of those freaks." This meant that they knew about IT and about my ability to feel and command IT. They seemed to think that if I was miserable enough I would not be able to access IT. Yet another example of just how ignorant they are. Adversity makes us stronger it keeps us hungry for more.

Mostly thanks to there attempts to keep me downtrodden I had developed my abilities, fueled by spite and necessity, to command IT to an alarming degree since the first time I healed a bruise given to me by Dudley for looking at his toy at his 5th birthday party. Now I could use it to heal up to broken bones, light fires, give off small static shocks, levitate things, and make items lighter or heaver. I can also for lack of a better word "read" minds of people if I have eye contact. I also learned to channel IT by allowing IT to flow through me, like earlier but with considerably less power. When I'm channeling IT I can lift things that should have been to heavy (unfortunately I couldn't lift cars, yet, only maybe 50 pound more tops), move faster (again no super hero speeds but I once reached 25mph), feel the IT in others, and can some times make time seam to slow down enough that I can easily have time to think and react. While I can channel for more or less days it leaves me vary tired if I let it go to long with out a brake.

I was rudely interrupted from my ruminations by the shrieks of my aunt telling me to get up and finish breakfast. I never bothered to ask why she started it if I was the one who had to actually cook it. That was just too unimportant to bother breaking the no questions rule to ask. I told her I was up and would be out presently. As I got up off my bare mattress and got dressed I reflected that the embargo on questions was probably because they knew that I would poke wholes through there lies.

My hatred of them had been a burning weight in my gut ever since I went looked for the obituaries for my parents and found a small piece in a local newspaper in Godrics Hollow that credited it to a "gas explosion." They had allways insisted they died in a car crash, caused by my father who was driving drunk. I had no doubt that I had gotten my gifts from my parents and I will make them proud. Once I was strong enough I would brake free. After I finally escape this festering tome of mediocrity I will see to it the Dursleys reaped what they had sowed. Oh yes they would pay, but first breakfast.

A/N: So was it good for you too? Tell me what you think. Review

PS. Don't get used to this update pace. It was a reward for those who reviewed and added me to there favorites.


	3. 3: The Prince

Disclaimer: See ch.1

A/N: Thank all of you who reviewed. It means allot to me. On that note I want your input on relationships. Should he have one at all? Should Harry be gay, straight, bi or asexual? I intend to set him up with ether on OC or a secondary character if he has a relationship at all. Don't worry, I don't plan on having Harry start a relationship until much later, but it will determine the direction this story takes. There will be no marry sues/stews, if you see one let me know and I will soot to kill. I should also point out that Harry is ten at this point.

A/N2: A special thanks to my proof reader GoddessFanta, your the best!

3: The Prince

Before heading out to fix breakfast I checked to make sure that the small storage space concealing my books was once again covered. That was one of my more lucky finds. The apparently solid back wall of the small cupboard was actually just a thin backing that made the room look more symmetrical. This left a small hollow space at the base of the stairs. Normally I wouldn't have cared, except to rage that it cut into my already limited space. One day, out of boredom, I removed a semi-hidden door that led to the space I found someone's old college books. They were so out of date that they were, mostly, useless; I read them all any way with the help of a good thesaurus, but one struck a strong cord with me.

Machiavelli's "The Prince" was my guiding light, it opened my eyes to the world as it was and gave me the mental tools to forge the simmering need for greatness that was my constant companion into the drive it was today. I no longer let the morality of the weak to dictate my actions. If I was going to become great, such constraints would have to be forsaken. The world is a cold and lonely place to become grate, or even survive, I must be colder. People are pawns, who's only purposes in life are to be used by those who are unafraid to grasp at power.

Seeing the hiding place was reassuringly closed, I wiped my face clear of all emotion and stepped out into the main house. I must present myself as a subservient and normal child until my time for greatness arrived. I walked out down the hall and into the kitchen, and catching sight of Petunia peering eagerly out the window in hopes of witnessing another shouting match. As I quietly salvaged the bacon and eggs, I reflected that she had gotten up early for no reason unless my guess is way off. Ms.Bushman and her daughter would both be feeling guilty about the things they had said, especially, her daughter Sara who had used language that would make a sailor blush.

All this was because Sara felt embarrassed for her mother had been right about her last boyfriend. I was honestly dreading puberty, how could it matter so much if some boy had cheated her, why get so emotional? She should have simply gotten revenge, taken back whatever he had cheated her out of and picked up another boy to slobber all over. This fight had nothing to do with the real problem. Of course it was probably something stupid that had resulted in Sara lashing out with all her pent up resentment, towards her mother for being right, the boy for cheating her and herself for falling for the boy's scam.

As I was considering the bane that is puberty, Vernon came down barely glancing at me and started to read his paper. Dudley was probably going to sleep until noon, after all as Petunia said "A growing boy needs his sleep." I will concede that Dud was growing rounder at an incredible rate. I knew the blissful silence was going to be short lived, naturally I was right.

As I was serving breakfast Petunia finally reached the conclusion that I already had, namely that there will not be any more fireworks next door (for now). So she sat down at the table and started to regale us with the whole sordid affair. The only deviation from my own conclusions was apparently the boy had sex with some other girl. Can you believe it? This entire drama was over the fact that that some hormonal teenage boy had given into the biological urge imprinted on every male, to spread his seed to as many females as possible. She had no one but herself to blame. If she had been smarter, she would have insured his fear of her wrath was stronger than his instinctual drive for more sex.

While Petunia gossiped, happily unaware of her listener's inattention, both Vernon and I finished eating. She only nibbled at some toast; I suspected that she was slightly anorexic. It only made sense for her to envy of other women's figures considering her deep seated jealous nature. It was completely pointless for her in my opinion because no matter how much she tried, she would always look like a horse that was beaten with the ugly stick.

While I cleared the table, Vernon finally emerged from his newspaper and barked out that I was to "Make yourself useful and do what your aunt tells you today BOY." I felt a flash of irritation at the indignity of being called "boy" by a "man" who couldn't even make it through the week without throwing a tantrum. This utter imbecile had no clue how close he was to being reduced to ash. I was only able to keep a stony facade because of long experience dealing with such indignities. I would have to continue to deal with them too, at least until I was ready to take my revenge. That day is fast approaching, and I will see to that.

After making his declaration of my duties for the day he got up, kissed Petunia and left for work. I could tell Petunia was positively bursting to be the first one to start the gossip about the Bushmens. She told me to weed the front garden; she just wanted me out of the house so she could indulge in vicious gossip without having to keep an eye on me. I made my way out front and confirmed that no one was out yet. I closed my eyes and let IT flow outwards griping the roots of several weeds in front of me and tugged. They came up easily, I then sat down and got to work of relaxing under the cover of a tree letting IT do all of the work for me. As IT pulled the weeds, I considered the possibilities of inspiring another fight at the Bushmans, should I ever need to get rid of Petunia for most of the day. She would be too enthralled to notice a brass band marching through the living room. I would be free to go to London, something I had always wanted to do. I had long ago figured out that money is easy to get if you can lift a wallet out of a pocket without touching it. Yes I think it is time Sara and I talked. After all it would be downright rude of me not to pass along all the horrible things that boy, Mark I think his name was, and her mom were saying about her. It would be down right unfriendly not to tell her everyone was laughing at her; and if my telling her just happens to coincide with the day Dudley will be out camping with friends and Vernon had an overnight convention about drills, well all the better for me.

A/N: Pease review. Don't forget to let me know about your preferences concerning his relationship(s) or if he should have one at all.


	4. 4: The Pub

Disclaimer: see Ch.1

A/N: Thanks once again to I of my wonderful reviewers, you guys rule. Be sure to tell me what you want in the way of a relationship, or lack thereof, for Harry. A special thanks to my betas, Goddess Fanta and bookworm914, they take my unintelligible scribbles and shape it into "complete sentences in the Queen's English."

4: The Pub

I let myself smirk as I wondered down the street. I had earned this trip. Not only had my distraction gone off without a hitch, but the Bushman girl now trusted me. Most people trust those who feed their paranoia and insecurities. I could now get away from Petunia whenever I wanted. All I had to do was take one hormonal and emotionally charged teen, Sara, agitate, sit back and wait for the show.

After my brilliant distraction, I caught a bus to London. There was no one else from Privet Drive on the bus. Of course the residents of Privet Drive would never lower themselves to the point of using public transit. The bus had given me opportunity to liberate plenty of money from the inattentive passengers to pay for my little vacation.

The trip took less than two hours. Due to the job schedules of both of the Bushmans the fight accrued ridiculously early, I arrived in London before most of the shops had not yet opened. I had dropped a hint that Sara was acting angry during dinner last night to insure that Petunia was glued to the window when it happened.

I wandered into a novelty shop near the station to kill time. While browsing through the childish gags, I came across a display of temporary hair dyes; they washed out in water apparently. The dyes came in everything from bright neon to your standard hair colors. How could I pass up something so wonderfully useful? I quickly bought 12 tubes, four each, of blond, brunette, and ginger.

After I had paid, I took a quick look into her mind and saw that she loved kids butt she was completely barren. I asked the clerk if I could use their bathroom to apply it, the, sign clearly stated it was for employees only, as a joke on my mother who was across the street. As I asked, I schooled my face into a look that screamed innocent hope and excitement. If I could have seen myself, I probably would have puke. The clerk, completely fooled by my cute little kid routine, agreed instantly, even offering to show me how to apply it.

I walked out of the shop, now a blond, and wandered through a nondescript shopping district. I stopped at a stand being setup outside a sporting goods store. It held ropes, camping gear, and a wide selection of knives. I saw a knife I wanted, but floating it in plain sight in the middle of a street (i.e. no cover), with an attendant right there seemed too risky. So I walked over and helped the clerk lift a large camp stove on to the table. As he was thanking me, looking at my face, I quickly palmed a medium sized folding knife. As I continued on my way I pulled out my new acquisition to examine it more closely. It had a three inch, stainless steel, blade that folded into the black hard plastic and rubber handle. I peeled off the sticker and slipped the knife into my back pocket.

As I continued down the street, I started to feel a small tingling at the tips of my fingers, like the feeling you get when your legs go to sleep. The further down it I went, the more the feelings increased. I stopped and examined the street I was on: There was nothing unusual about it, but the feeling was still there. I closed my eyes and reached out with IT.

After the initial head rush, I always felt when I used IT, I sent out tendrils of IT, feeling my way to the source of the tingling. It was coming from a rundown pub two stores down across the street. I opened my eyes to look incredulously: This dirty little pub that had IT hanging all over it. It was incredible; unlike anything I had ever encountered or thought possible. The pub was covered with a multilayered, grid like, web of IT.

For the first time in a long time, I was hesitant and unsure of what to do. How was it possible for a building to be covered in IT? Should I go in? Was the building generating it all on its own, or was someone else doing it? If it was someone else, why and how would they do it?

I stopped myself right there, disgusted with myself; I would go in. I didn't survive the Dursleys just to be scared off by some pub that felt weird. I would watch the pub for awhile before diving in though. Nobody entered or exited it nor did anyone else really pay it much attention. In fact, no one even looked at it, not even for a second. They would walk right by the pub without glancing at it. Suddenly the web's purpose became clear; it was there to prevent those who had no control over their IT from seeing the pub. That meant that the pub had to be some sort of gathering place for those with IT.

That settled it: I was going in. The only question is how I could get in without displaying my ignorance. I refused to show such weakness in my first real encounter with others like me. After considering my options, I decided that I would just have to brazen it out. I would simply walk in as if I owned the place and project an air of purpose. Besides if worse came to worse, I was confident that I could take care of myself if it came to violence.

It was still early, so the pub would be nearly empty, so I wouldn't need to worry about overwhelming odds. That under population would also mitigate the damage should I have to slip into a "lost little child" facade. I figured that if I just went in, order a glass of water and find a table, I could eavesdrop to my heart's content.

Why was I dithering around out here, making plans about how to enter an inherently unknown situation? Too Hell with my pride! If anyone was inside, I would play the lost little boy because it had the greatest chance of success. Now, giving myself a little shake, I am going to stop procrastinating and go forward to face my future. This was my time and I will grasp it. I will become great, I will become powerful, and I will change the world. Give me a few years and I will have the world dancing to my tune.

A/N: So tell me what you think. VOTE OR DIE, I will accept no bitching about the eventual pairings if you don't vote on one now.


	5. 5: The Fog

Disclaimer: See chapter 1

A/N: As all ways, major props to my betas, you guys rock. Sorry for the delay in this chapter but I am getting ready for finals and finishing my research papers. This means that updates will be iritic at best for awhile. I am going to close the polls on Harry's sexuality when I post the next chapter, any votes after I post the next one will be ignored.

5: The Fog

I took a deep breath, crossed the street and pushed through the door into the pub. A peeling sign above the door told me it was called the "Leaky Cauldron". I stepped into the pub; I was right about no one being there this early; in fact I was alone. The pub was dark and rustic; it had the atmosphere of being incredibly old, but lacked the must or stillness that most historic buildings do. There was a bar running halfway down the right of the door, made of the same age blackened wood as the rest of the pub. After the bar was a stone fireplace, it was even older; it is so large that three people could stand up in it comfortably. To the right there was a wooden flight of stairs leading to a second floor, this too was made of the same black wood. Under the stairs there was two private looking wooden booths lit with candles. In the center of the pub, tables seemed to be scattered randomly throughout the space.

As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I heard someone coming down the stairs. I cast around for cover, I decided on ducking through a door that blended into the wall on the far side of the pub. How I knew that was the one to go through or indeed how I knew it was there at all, I didn't couldn't tell you but I did. As the steps from upstairs reached the first steps, I had shut the hidden door.

The second I stepped out in to the back alley, I felt a wonderful fog fill my thoughts. I felt light as if all my worries and stress seamed to float away. Aside from my worries, something else left me; something that had been such a deep part of me for so long that its absence felt like a gaping wound. With that wound something broke through the fog, one thought. "I will be great." I said as the thought ran through my head.

Shortly afterwards a strict female voice cut through the mental fog telling me to "Come to me." I started to walk over to the apparently solid wall, and then froze. "Why should I?" I thought. The voice came again, only more forceful this time "COME TO ME." It was too late though, its hold over me was already weakened. "If I'm going to be great I can't be at someone else's beck and call." I reasoned. The fog was no longer blanketing my thoughts but was rather like a badly tuned radio signal.

I staggered to the brick wall and sagged against it for support. I was wrestling for control over my mind, to regain my strength, my individuality. The closest I can come to explaining it is comparing it to trying dig a hole in the sand, you can make progress but it is always trying to fill its self back in. I would push the fog out and it would come crashing back in, each time the fog would get a little weaker.

As this back and forth continued for what seemed like an eternity, it was in actuality only a minute or two, I remembered IT. I could use it to force the fog out much faster, perhaps follow it to the source of this fog. I gathered IT, letting the fog roll in a little more due to my split attention, and prepared to direct it to repel this invading fog. Once I was ready I unleashed IT using it to strengthen my outward push.

At first it seemed to be working, the fog was almost completely forced out. I allowed myself a brief moment to bask in my victory, one more push and I would be free. Just as that thought hit me, I noticed a strange feeling rushing through my body, or more accurately out of my body. My IT wasn't pushing the fog out it was being drawn into it, feeding it.

I felt something I had not felt in a very long time, fear. I was terrified that this fog was going to rob me of the one thing that made me special, the one thing that separated me from the masses. I could not stop the flow no matter how hard I tried, the fog just kept pulling more and more of IT from me.

Just before I was sucked dry of all my IT, the flow suddenly stopped. Before I could even begin to hope I would make it out of this mess with my IT intact, the fog swept back in. I tried to resist, but with my own IT fueling the fog, it was unstoppable. The floating sensation returned and so did the voice only this time it seemed smug. "Come to me" she said gently, with only the faintest hint of smugness, and that's just what I did.

I straightened up and, directed by the voice, ran my hands over the bricks of the wall I had been leaning on. As I did so, the bricks jumped aside forming a brick arch way leading down a cobble stone street with shops lining both sides. I paid neither the shops nor their attendants getting ready for the day any attention, as I quickly strode down the street following the summons put forth by the voice.

I was approaching a massive marble building that easily dwarfed the other buildings on the street. I hurried up the stairs, and through the large double doors, made of bronze. As I went passed the doors I vaguely noticed that the doorman was not human, but rater was a short, swarthy creature with long hands and feet. It bowed as I walked past, but even in my fog induced confusion I could tell it was forced. I was bowed through, just as reluctantly as before, by two more of the creatures. The doors where engraved silver this time, though I couldn't be bothered to read them because I was nearing my goal.

I was now in a vast marble hall with a long row of counters to one side, each manned by a creature. I ignore those and make for a door about half way down the opposite side of the hall. This door is also made of silver, only this time it had a coat of arms engraved on it. As I enter, I feel a vague tingle wash over me and then dissipate.

With the dissipation of the tingling, the fog also disappears. All of my IT flows back to me in a one big rush. I feel my anger rush to the surface directed at both my own weakness and at who ever had tried to steal my IT and my freewill. I cast about for something to direct my wrath at. I was in an ornate, windowless office with an expensive looking wooden desk and three ornate, but still comfortable wooden chairs. Directly in front of me is another of those creatures, though this one wore far more expensive clothes than the others.

He, I assumed it was male based on the clothes and pointed beard, had a decidedly more sinister cast than the others. He was missing the point of his left ear and wore a crimson silk eye patch, over the right eye, that didn't quite cover the scar that started at his right temple and went straight down towards where his eye should have been. Seeing my scrutiny he gave me a smirk and a mocking bow.

This finely broke through the last of my self control. I used IT to swirl the air around me and snuff the candles plunging the room into total darkness, the only light in the room was an eerie green light coming from my eyes. Lacing each syllable with malice, I said in a deathly quiet voice, which still cut through the sound of the rushing air, like a shout "You have three seconds to convince me why I should not rip out your other eye and force feed it to whatever family you leave behind. Starting **now**."

A/N: This is your last chance to vote on Harry's sexuality, straight is leading currently (I think). REVIEW


	6. 6: The Blood that Binds

Disclaimer: see ch.1

A/N: My reviewers as always kick ass, as do my betas, Goddess Fanta and bookworm941. Now for the poll results ………… Harry will be ……….straight. Sorry if you didn't get the sexuality you voted for, if you didn't vote you can kiss my ass you where warned. That's more or less it, updates will still be screwy until my finals are done.

6: The Blood that Binds

Even in my towering rage, I felt a twinge of respect for this creature, because he did not cower or even start begging for mercy (not that that would save him). He was scared, that much was written plainly across his face, but apart from taking a few steps back, he made no move to attack or flee. As I started to stalk towards him, he seemed to find his voice. "If you attack me, this room will be swarmed with hundreds of armed guards and the Aurors will be summoned," he said in a gravelly voice. "Self-deception will not change the facts," I responded. "That door and these stone walls, ever so excellent for eliminating eavesdroppers, will muffle any cries for help." This time his voice was bordering on terrified, "I am not responsible for the method that your summons took."

I stopped moving towards him. "Explain" I said in the same malicious voice. If anything, this made him more uncomfortable. Just as I decided that he needed more encouragement to loosen his tongue, he found his spine. He straightened up and looked squarely into my glowing eyes. "It is not my place to tell you. If you would have a seat, we must wait for the other party to arrive. It is his job to explain this whole situation to you." "If that is true, then you are of no use to me and that means I can kill you for your duplicity in my abduction."

Just as I was about to start an "aggressive" game of 20 questions (using IT, his head, and the ornate table) the door opened. I turned halfway around and took two steps back, so that my back was to the wall. I saw the outline of a medium sized man standing in the entrance to the room. He paused for a second in the doorway. Then he quickly stepped into the pitch dark room, closing the door behind him. "Telling ghost stories, are we?" he asked in an amused voice.

He had a larger than average amount of IT, nothing truly shocking, just upper end of the spectrum I had encountered so far. No, it wasn't the amount that got my attention; it was the feel of IT. His IT had a colder feel than the others I had felt. His IT was like a bright fire that gave off waves of soothing cold instead of heat. It was, somehow, more comforting than the heat the others had given off.

Even more unusual was the web of IT wrapped around his wrists, ankles, and neck. All three bands where connected by thin strands of IT to a family crest, different from the one on the door, about the size of a fist over his heart. They were even colder than his own IT, the coldest thing I had ever felt or heard of. The web on the pub had been warmer and a lot less tangible. The pub's web had strands that felt like ropes, but this man's web felt like metal bands that were inches thick.

Tearing myself away from my inspection of his web I asked, "Who the hell are you?" He responded, "My name is Bryce, if that is of any help. Now I know that you are confused and probably angry. We will answer your questions, but it would go a lot quicker, not to mention we would be more comfortable, if we had some light and sit down to talk. "When I just narrowed my eyes at him, he went on, "I am aware, considering that you grew up with muggles, that you are most likely at a complete loss as to what is going on. If you will permit us, we are here to help you."

I weighed my options: I could take their word and cooperate, or I could kill them, leave, and go back to the Dursleys. Oh well, I could always kill them later. I flicked my gaze to the nearest candle and sent a jolt of IT around the room. The candles lit one after another, starting with the one I glanced at. At the same time, the air stopped whipping about like a cyclone. I calmly strode to the largest and most comfortable chair, the one behind the desk, sat, and steepled my fingers and waiting for the others to be seated.

The creature, noticeably bolder now that he was not alone and I had calmed down, cleared his throat with a noise like gravel being crunched under foot. "I am sorry, but that is my seat. Please take one of the others and we can get this meeting back on a profitable track." I simply glared at him, allowed my eyes to flash green again, and said, "You are either a very slow learner or you actually wish to die violently." He hastily sat down in a smaller chair across the table from me, trying valiantly to keep a calm demeanor. Bryce on the other hand had a pleased, almost hopeful look on his face, as he crossed the room to the other chair.

"Now this is the way this is going to work. I am going to start with asking a question. Then, one of you will answer as succinctly as possible. If I want clarification, I will ask for it. After my questions are answered and only after, you will be allowed to talk." I paused here to see if they still thought they had a say in this; they didn't. "The first thing you will tell me is, what was it that forced me to come here and who is responsible?"

The creature looked at Bryce, who ignored its fidgeting masterfully, keeping his eyes locked on me. He said, "You were bought here by what is known as the Blood Summons. Your ancestors placed it upon their bloodlines so as to ensure that the family will always have a head. Following the death of the head of the family, the next in line for the title is brought here. Once here, you my turn down the position, but that is rarely done."

Of the millions of questions flying around in my head, the first one to come out was, "Why is it that he" I nodded at the creature "could not tell me this before you got here? Why are you even involved at all?" I asked. Was it possible he was somehow related to me? Bryce replied, "Well you see, that is where this gets complicated."

A/N: So how was it? Tell me what you think. review


	7. 7: Magic and Betrayal

Disclaimer: see Ch. 1

A/N: Let me start off with an apology, I am sorry for not posting for so long. Now let me tell you it is totally not my fault. Shortly after finals I got hit by a drunk driver. I am ok now but I lost my laptop and all my work. This combined with the end of my long term relationship, he had the nerve to use the "I didn't know we where exclusive" line on me after 3 and a half years together, have conspired to hamstring my muse. I am not stopping this fic but you should know that at least for a while updates will be few and far between, at least until my muse recovers and school slows done a bit.

As always thanks to my reviewers and betas.

7: Magic and Betrayal

I needed to think, the shocks just kept coming. Obviously I was at a real disadvantage here, they had knowledge I didn't and that was new to me. I needed to stop, collect my thoughts, and approach this dispassionately. I had allowed my emotions to take over and had been reacting in a defensive manner. This prevented me from acting in a manner that would allow me to take advantage of my situation and control it.

First thing first, are they lying to me? I thought back and decided that I didn't think so; I hadn't felt the telltale tingling in the back of my thought that tells me someone is lying to me. Next, how should I fill in the gaps of my knowledge faster? As I thought about it, I started to truly come down for the first time since I had entered the pub. As I calmed down, it hit me: I could just enter their minds and take what I needed. I was not sure if it would work on the creature but I should at least try.

I locked eyes with it and entered hard and fast. It was, different; it is the only way to describe it. With humans entering was like walking through a breeze. Entering this creature was more like forcing my way through malaises. Once I had entered the mind, I was beset by intense colors and emotions. Trying to figure was nearly impossible, it was like trying to complete a puzzle that was missing pieces.

The creature didn't think like humans did, not that they are dumb; just different. He was just as logical and calculating as me; but he had several overriding passions that would create massive blind spots in their ability to make logical decisions. The closest mind to this that I had come across was a fanatical Christen I had met once. Despite being brilliant he couldn't see anything that didn't agree with his beliefs. The blind spot for this creature, as near as I could tell, was not one of faith but one of greed and pride.

Realizing I had been there to long, I pulled out and switched to Brice. Brice's mind was again different, right after I started to enter his mind, two things happened. First, his mind was not surrounded by a breeze or malaises. It was more like entering a warm pool. Almost instantaneously the water hardened in to a solid block of ice, the ice that felt the same as his manacles only it was not made of steel. I felt a gentle pushing trying to force me out, this time it felt like Bryce's IT, which I ignored. After deciding that the ice was very solid and unless I wanted to batter my way in, something told me using force like that inside of his mind would not be wise, I would have to leave.

When I pulled out, I was greeted by the sight of Brice's face undergoing several rapid transformations. At first he had a blank look on his face followed quickly by confusion, shock and finely an eager almost hopeful look. I kept my face impassive and analyzed the possibilities. Somehow this man had detected my entering of his mind. Bryce had not stopped me, whatever was binding him had. And he was almost certainly bound by something or someone. The placement of those bands defiantly indicated some form of chains, meant to restrain him or bind his will. I must watch for hints to his master's identity.

Before I could reflect further; Bryce stopped imitating a goldfish and sent me a calculating look that promised he would be bringing this up later. Before ether could break the silence, I asked, "How can someone who is long dead summon me to anywhere? And more importantly how did it subvert my will?" This time, there was a noticeable pause before Bryce smirked and responded, "Do you believe in magic?"

I felt a flash of irritation at the fact that he was not taking me seriously. I mean, come on magic? He could have at least put some thought into his joke. But he was not smiling anymore; on the contrary, he looked dead serious. "How else could you have lit the candelas or stirred up the wind like you did, if not magic?" asked the creature.

So magic is IT, IT is magic. I could do magic. "Why did no one ever contact me about any of this before?" I demanded. The creature responded immediately "There have been several attempts. All who do so must go through your magical guardian and he in turn must pass all notices on to you." I felt a flash of anger; somebody was cheating me out of my greatness and tiring to keep me ignorant. There was no way that it was the Dursleys. They where more spiteful than smart and would have use this information to make me more miserable; even if you ignore the fact that they would have been completely mortified at the idea of dealing with this creature.

"Who is my so called guardian?" I bit out through clinched teeth. "Albus Dumbledore." Bryce spat out as if it was a vile cures. The tone of voice and set of his shoulders told me that Brice had a personal hatred of this man. I stopped to consider for a moment. If this man was my magical guardian and my understanding of what I had seen thus far, then I now had several valuable pieces of information. One, this Dumbledore has breeched his contract by not informing me of the contact attempts. Two, he was trying to keep me in the dark for some unknown reason. Three, Bryce was defiantly against Dumbledore. Finally, this meeting was being held illegally without Albus being present.

I smiled as, because for the first time since I had been thrust into this farce I felt I was getting a clearer picture of what was happening. My sudden smile seemed to scare the others more than the displays of power or the treats ever did.

SO, what do you think? Reviews might make me write faster.


	8. AN

I know readers hate this so I'll be brief. hiharrypotter hit on one of my concerns about the fic. It also came at a perfect time for me seeing as I have to redo the next chapters. So I'm going to ask you what think. Should I switch to a third person point of view? Tell me ether by reviewing or send me an email at ghh422 gmail. com. (remove spaces)


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